Desire nothing, said my Lord.
But my house is built on desire –
a way station of ceaseless comings and goings;
of compacts, treaties, agreements and arrangements.
Perhaps, o wanderer, you’ve left your house
and now haunt the tombs of saints,
study the scriptures, indulge in the sweet
intoxication of prayer; perhaps,
you’ve renounced worldly indulgences
to take up spiritual indulgences. Perhaps,
you covet love now, liberation, peace, paradise,
the imagined glory of your own eventual Godhood.
Desire nothing, said my Lord. But my house is a ruin
on the side of the highway travelers tramp through
on their way to presumed important appointments,
thrilling adventures and soul-serving endeavors.
They often invite me along. Even my
entrenchment and intransigency is desire.
O child of God, hold your tongue. Desire nothing
because, nothing is withheld.